


How To Save A Life

by OrTheNightEverythingChanged



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Isak is out, M/M, Out Isak Valtersen, POV Even Bech Næsheim, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Sana and Isak are together in uni, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, like literally - Freeform, m a y b e, maybe smut, the girl squad and the boy squad are one big fluffy squad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 18:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21396814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrTheNightEverythingChanged/pseuds/OrTheNightEverythingChanged
Summary: Even shrugged, drank his glass of water in one go, and went back to his room.If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't trying. He hadn't been trying anymore since a long time now, too exhausted by the thoughts in his head to even want it.He knew life was beautiful, god, was it beautiful. Even loved life, its unpredictable nuances, the colours and the light and the laughters and everything in between. There was a reason he chose art and media as a major at university, he sought the beauty in life and wanted to capture it, frame it nicely and look at it forever. Or allow other people to look at it forever, and find some kind of solace.He loved life. He believed life could have given him so much more, love and beauty and happiness. He really believed that.He didn't want it anymore, though.—Or How to save a life: a 101 guide by oblivious Isak Valtersen—Or the one where Even is suicidal and writes a list of all the things he wants to do before it’s time to go.Isak is the first one.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim & Isak Valtersen, Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen, Isak Valtersen & Jonas Noah Vasquez, Mikael Øverlie Boukhal & Even Bech Næsheim, Sana Bakkoush & Isak Valtersen, Yousef Acar/Sana Bakkoush
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	How To Save A Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm coming back with a long, darkish fic. Sorry in advance for the lack of constance in the updating, I'm editing this as we go and some parts need massive editing, also art school is taking a lot of my time, also depression, so yay. But we'll get there!  
Hope you enjoy :)

**Tirsdag 03/09, 16:42**

  


Hold on to the threads.

_Hold on to the threads_, that was what his therapist had told him. Hold on to the threads, the threads of life. Not that_ red thread of destiny_ kind of crap. That bullshit didn't exist. He was talking about the threads that kept Even's life together. Or were at least supposed to. At that point of the appointment, Even had already been zoning out and was thinking about ways not to make his mother cry when he would have told her it was getting bad again. 

He had only grasped pieces, quick flashes of what his psychologist was telling him to try to keep him alive.

_ Don't stop going to Kaffebrenneriet after lectures to chat with Mikael. _

_ Don't stop baking dessert for your mom every Sunday afternoon. _

_ Don't stop creating. _

_ Keep going out, laughing with your friends, falling in love over and over again with your neighbour's new puppy. Keep riding your bike everywhere even if you already have a driving license. _

Keep holding on.

_ Easier said than done _ , Even thought as he hopped off the bus at his stop and started walking towards home. _ Fucking easier said than done. _

How was he supposed to hold on to the threads if those threads themselves were starting to rot and unravel and rip? How was he supposed to stay alive when all he wanted to do was sleep? Just sleep, forever.

Sleep, over the years, had developed into being his way of saying death. Way easier telling that to your friends, _ I just wanna sleep _ , rather than telling them  _ I wanna bang my head against the wall till my skull breaks and the brain starts to gush out of it _ . Not that he really wanted to do that. He was more of an overdose-with-sleeping-pills kind of guy. Hadn't worked the first time, but what did they say-

Even stopped, frowning. He couldn't remember how the saying went. He breathed deeply, thanking for the umpteenth time his mental illness that gave him, among other awesome things, the amazing gift of a shitty memory.

He rummaged in his backpack to search for the keys of the front gate, before going upstairs and opening the front door of his tiny flat. He slipped out of his shoes, closed the door behind him and left the backpack in the hallway. Mikael was still working at the cafeteria, he had the afternoon shift that day and wouldn't be home until late that evening. Even was alone with his thoughts and the project he had to prepare for next week's lectures. Not that he planned to work on that any time soon. It was Tuesday afternoon and he had no plans other than stuff his face with his mother's leftover lasagne and, well, hope to sleep (literally sleep) his feelings off for the rest of the evening. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes he needed to get high off his ass to form a coherent thought that didn't involve him killing himself.

_ Yeah, it's that bad, mom. _

Inhale. Exhale.

Sleep.

_ Hold on to the threads. _

Sure.

  


  


**Tirsdag 03/09, 18.57**

  


Sleep definitely wasn't in the picture for that evening. He turned again in his bed, groaning, squeezing his eyes shut to try to calm himself down. Curtains down, lights off, darkness everywhere. The only feeble speck of light was the led of his phone, silently beeping every time he got a new message. It probably was the groupchat of his boys, setting up plans for next Friday evening. Pregame where, party when, _should we crash one or get to the others we were actually invited to?_ That was the usual layout of their conversations. Never changed since they were teenagers in high school. Well, it did change one time, but Even wasn't gonna go down that road today.

He groaned again, and got up half-willingly. He left the plate from the lasagne on his nightstand and zombied his way towards the kitchen, all the lights still off. He didn't need to see to know his way in the flat, he had lived there with Mikael long enough to remember where to go not to bump or crash his pinkie toe against every goddamn furniture. That was what had happened during the first months of him staying there. He hadn't known his way back then, but he still preferred darkness anyway.

The days of light were long gone then as well.

The kitchen was a mess. He tried to avoid looking at it and got a glass of water instead, too tired to even try to think about cleaning up. Good thing Mikael was basically a cleaning man: he was at home barely enough time to clean up the mess Even left after himself, shout at him to be _at least a bit more tidy with your dirty laundry for fuck's sake, I'm not your mother_, and then out again either to go to work or hang out with friends. Friends that should have comprehended Even as well, but lately hadn't that much anymore.

_Nice job of holding on to the threads, uh._

Even shrugged, drank his glass of water in one go, and went back to his room.

If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't trying. He hadn't been trying anymore since a long time now, too exhausted by the thoughts in his head to even want it.

He _knew_ life was beautiful, god, was it beautiful. Even loved life, its unpredictable nuances, the colours and the light and the laughters and everything in between. There was a reason he chose art and media as a major at university, he sought the beauty in life and wanted to capture it, frame it nicely and look at it forever. Or allow other people to look at it forever, and find some kind of solace.

He loved life. He believed life could have given him so much more, love and beauty and happiness. He really believed that.

He didn't want it anymore, though. 

Even was tired. He just wanted to sleep, sleep and for once not wake up because of nightmares or anxiety or all the shit that usually made him stay awake way more than necessary to avoid falling asleep. He wished he could just sleep, only sleep, for once.

The _and never wake up_ after that was another part of the story.

He got into his room and grabbed his phone. _Time to deal with reality._

As predicted, his whatsapp was full of notification from the boys' groupchat. He groaned. Was he really down for thinking about partying that weekend? It was only Tuesday, Mikael was still at work and all he wanted to do was sleep for all eternity.

_Hold on to the threads, Even._

Fuck that shit.

He breathed deeply, and went to take a quick shower. _Quick shower_ that turned into a twenty minutes staring-at-the-wet-wall-until-the-wall-stares-back competition, till he realised he'd been standing there for that long and got out of the shower, soaking wet, with the towel forgotten on the other side of the bathroom. It wasn't that big of a room, actually, but he could already hear Mikael scream at him for leaving the bathroom like a flooded earth. 

It was a well known script, his relationship with Mikael. They'd been friends since forever, way before going to Bakka and meeting the other boys. Mikael had been there before Sonja, before everything. Mikael, well, Mikael had always been there, period. A stable, comforting presence in Even's life throughout the whole ordeal that had been his teenager years, and after. No wonder Even had found himself falling for hi-

_Not going down that road tonight_.

He got ready, let his hair dry in the air, grabbed the satchel he brought with himself basically everywhere (it mainly contained a sketchbook and some spare pencils he had found here and there, in case he would get bored in the middle of a party and wanted to zone out a bit) and the keys, and went out.

The chill air slapped him in the face making him shiver from head to toes. Even pulled up the zip of his jacket and clung to it as the fresh wind wrapped him in a cold embrace. Good thing the bus stop wasn’t that far away. He started walking in the darkening streets, stepping on the dry leaves that kept falling from the trees. Autumn that year was already coming, setting itself onto the city like a colourful, cold blanket. The time for warm tea and duvets was growing closer, and you could clearly see it in the streets: the windows of the shops were all decorated with warm earth tones that settled dearly in Even’s heart. Autumn was his favourite season to paint - not the favourite in general, but his artist eye had fallen for it a long time ago.

He arrived at the bus stop some minutes before the bus, no sign of life except for a woman and her dog that were walking towards the corner of the street. He sat on the bench that was at the stop, suddenly exhausted. It felt like the weight of the world had just dropped on his shoulders. His bones ached, his soul ached, an ache that wasn’t properly physical but tired his limbs and chest and mind.

_Faen, I wanna sleep so badly._

He looked around himself, teary eyes from the cold wind and the hurt in his body. There was an ad, attached to the wall of the bus stop, that caught his eyes. It wasn’t particularly good or beautiful or terrible, it was pretty normal for a street commercial. It was the catchphrase, the landscape behind it, the promise of an unforgettable journey that got his attention. Only a few hundred kroner for a _plane ticket that could change your life, turn it upside down, make it memorable_. It felt like both a slap in the face and a revelation. An idea started growing in his brain, an idea that lighted up in the middle of the darkness to illuminate everything around it.

The thing was, he could have actually done it. _I could actually do it. Get a plane ticket and fuck off somewhere away from here._ He didn’t give himself that much longer to live anyway. _Better make the best out of it._

Even got on the bus and kept thinking about it. The more he gave it importance, the more the idea grew. He didn’t have _only_ to buy that plane ticket. Potentially, he could have done _anything_. Bungee jumping. Parachuting. Trying all the drugs that couldn’t kill him in one go - or maybe those ones too? Scuba diving in the fjord in winter. Painting on the walls of his old hated school.

_What if I actually did it? _What if he wrote a list with all the things he wanted to do before saying goodbye to this world? Even would have never gone silently, his mind ached for a glorious crash. Maybe that was it.

That was it.

_Hold on to the threads? Better hold on to my narcissistic self that wants to go in a blaze of glory_.

Just for a little bit longer.

  


  


**Tirsdag 03/09, 19:36**

  


Even opened the door of the cafeteria and revered in the warmth that embraced him as he stepped inside. The days had started to get colder since a while now, and Even kinda hated it. He liked winter, sure, but he preferred sun and heat. His little cousin once even told him he was like a lizard-man.

Even never corrected her.

A silly song was playing in the background, and Even smiled. Mikael had always had a terrible taste in music, and when he worked alone he liked to put on the worst playlists possible. The customers didn’t care, though: he was the kindest human being (not only at work) and everybody loved him. 

Especially because he prepared some fucking good coffees.

Mikael didn’t notice him at first, the place was pretty full for being a late Tuesday afternoon. Even chose one of the few seats that weren’t already taken, and started his work.

He took out his sketchbook and ripped a clean sheet out of it. He thought about writing _Things to do before I die_ as a title, but if somebody ever found that list, it’d be pretty hard to explain why they were all short-term projects. So, he wrote _Things to do before the year ends _instead. Clean, unsuspectable, and also in a pretty colour.

He started brainstorming some ideas on his phone notes, but most of them were too stupid to actually be worthy of being put in the list. The _buy a plane ticket for a few hundred kroner _idea tickled his mind, but he wasn’t exactly sure about that yet.

He locked his phone and set it on the table, sighing.

_Hold on to the threads, Even._

Yeah, sure, hold on to the fucking threads.

What were his threads, though? He thought about his parents, his relatives, his friends, even the stray cat that sometimes hopped on the balcony of his childhood house demanding to be fed and scratched behind its ears. Everybody loved Even, in some measure. They’d all be sad. Desperate, even. His mother would feel the loss of a son, his little cousin wouldn’t have somebody to be spoiled by anymore. 

The knot in his chest that no matter what was always there grew bigger and bigger. Even closed his eyes and breathed deeply. What an egoist bastard he was.

_I really do deserve it, uh_.

The thing was, Even didn’t think there was actually something left for him to hold on to. Everything seemed distant, too far away for him to reach with his tired and aching body. Everything hurt: waking up in the morning, getting out of bed, having breakfast, getting dressed, going to university. Pretending nothing was wrong.

Was there even something _right_ to begin with?

Sure, he had friends and family who loved him and would_ break_ if he actually did it. But after a while, they would get over it. That was the problem. Because nothing was ever forever, wasn’t it? Things came and went, people passed and didn’t come back. Everybody would go on with their lives anyway, after a while. Moving on was possible, _faen_, moving on was what kept humanity from falling apart. They all would get over it. Nobody was essential for anybody to keep going.

In the end, everybody was alone and will ever be so. Alone with their thoughts, thoughts that in Even’s head were screaming to just do it, just do it _and get fucking over with it for once_.

He had some sort of plan, now, though. A plan he was _interested_ in following. He had no idea where this plan would have led him to, but for the first time in what felt like forever, he was _thrilled _by the thought. He could have done anything, literally _anything_, spent all his money and done the craziest things that his crazy mind could have thought of, and there would have been no consequences. He would be long gone by then anyway. Nobody would have had to deal with him anymore.

_I could even decide a date, _Even thought, as he opened the calendar on his phone and started looking at the next few months, searching for a number, a day that might spark something in him. _When is a good time to go?_ Definitely not on Christmas, he wasn’t that much of an asshole. He thought about setting a date that was close to him, but that way, he wouldn’t even have the time to do all the impossible things that he might come up with. What about the start of December? He still would have a lot of time, and in case it wasn’t enough then as well, he could have always postponed, right? 

There’s no good timing for a suicide. But maybe this way there would have been.

He sucked in his breath as a wave of cold air went over him. He was close to the door and he hated that seat, but it was the only one not taken that wasn’t next to some old woman that looked a lot like his horrible aunt that always wanted to know _everything_ about him at family gatherings. 

He heard laughters behind him and the chime of the door closing, and he turned around out of pure curiosity.

There was Sana, his friend Elias’ sister, that was talking to a girl with long mermaid hair and a cute beanie. He was about to stand up and go there to say hi to Sana - he really liked her, she was a genius and could stand up for herself and call her brother out when he was being a douche to her or her friends \- when his eyes were caught by someone else that was tagging along.

A burgundy scarf. The soft gold of some angel locks.

It was _him_.

Even wouldn’t call it exactly a _crush_. It was just a liking, a sympathy, a tendency to look his way when he met him at university or saw him with Sana. His artist eye would have never forgiven him if he hadn’t stared just a tiny bit sometimes. That boy looked like a work of art. Even knew nothing about him, only that he was in the same course as Sana and that he liked to put things in his mouth - such as a pen or a straw, _don__’t think about anything else Even - _when he was deep in thought. He had seen him a lot of times sitting in front of Sana studying there at Kaffebrenneriet.

Faen, Even didn’t even know his name.

He just knew he was cute.

But maybe - maybe - he could have changed that. He had nothing to lose after all, did he?

Even proudly took his blue pen and wrote the first bullet point of his list.

_Talk with the cute guy that is always with Sana._

He looked at his work, added a dot on top of the last ‘I’ he forgot to dot, and grinned.

Yeah.

He could have changed that.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and Comments are really really really appreciated. Please tell me what you think!


End file.
